


The Heart of Jotunheim

by Hosio, theicesculpture



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Bickering, Casket of Ancient Winters, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Escape Rooms, Fantasy, FrostIron - Freeform, Identity Issues, Illustrations, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Puzzles, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Rivalry, Team Up, Teamwork, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hosio/pseuds/Hosio, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicesculpture/pseuds/theicesculpture
Summary: "My fault?” Loki scoffs. You think it’smyfault that we’re here? You destroyed," he says as he walks closer, carefully enunciating each word, punctuating the spaces in between so there is no doubt of his displeasure, “the Casket of Ancient Winters.”“Uh – actually, I think you’ll find I just opened it.”What begins as a confrontation in Asgard’s vaults ends with Loki and Tony lost in a world of ice they must navigate their way out of.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43





	The Heart of Jotunheim

**Author's Note:**

> Note from theicesculpture: Hello! This is the minibang where I was lucky enough to be paired with the incredibly talented Hosio, whose artwork you can check out [here](https://www.instagram.com/hosiocat/?hl=en) (can't recommend taking a look enough). 
> 
> Hosio is the artist for this fic and I am the writer, though for the story we collaborate and discuss the plot elements and other aspects together.
> 
> There are a couple of things that might be worth noting ficwise – one is that Thanos is part of the setup but ultimately won't become a main part of the story and the other is that I'm historically bad at estimating story lengths but a short novella length seems likely.
> 
> Thanks to [Of_Lights_and_Shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Lights_and_Shadows/pseuds/Of_Lights_and_Shadows) for beta reading this chapter!

The throne of Asgard is a seat on which Loki cannot find a position to sit comfortably.

The metal is sloped in such a way that forces the user to sit perfectly upright, spine straight and head held high.

Odin always said that thrones should never be comfortable to sit upon, just as the positions of those who sit upon them should never be comfortable positions to fill. Loki finds he despises the sentiment more and more as the days and months pass and it only adds to his frustration that he knows precisely how he needs to sit to be able to tolerate this chair, only if he sits in his prefered position there will be those who will question him.

It would only be reasonable.

The Allfather had never been one to sit in a posture any could accuse of being a slouching one; he would rather have suffered the burden of such discomfort than succumb to it and now Loki must endure it too because he mustn't give away this game of his, this pretence of being King of the Nine Realms, of wearing the illusion of Odin's skin over his own and speaking with a voice that does not belong to him.

"Father," Thor says. He speaks with a reverence that never used to be present when he was aware he was speaking to Loki, and his voice is softer, his eyes less keen to meet his.

Thor is frowning. It has been some time since Loki has last seen him and the last time Thor had not appeared so uneasy.

"What troubles you, Thor?"

"There has been another sighting."

"Another one?" Loki’s grip on the arm of the throne tightens. "I commanded Heimdall to speak to me immediately if–"

"It wasn't Heimdall."

Loki stops. "Then who?"

"The Midgardians."

"The Midgardians are among the _last_ people we want to rally for this war."

"They have the technology to see further than Heimdall can. They have devised methods to see beyond the Nine Realms."

Loki makes an unimpressed noise. "Then tell me what they _think_ they have seen."

"An army," Thor states. "An army that flies through the stars that is heading directly towards the Nine Realms."

For a short few seconds, Loki cannot move. His body is rooted in place, his muscles seizing against his bones and his breath trapped in the cage of his chest.

"An army," Loki repeats. To his own ears his voice sounds odd, distant and disjointed.

Thor frowns at him. "Yes."

"How large an army?"

Thor presses his lips together before he answers. "Very."

"And their leader?”

"We do not know the leader's identity," Thor answers. "All we know is that wherever the fleet goes, entire planets disappear."

Planets disappearing. A fleet. One that is moving with purpose towards them – no, not towards them, towards _Loki_.

It's Thanos. It has to be.

Loki's heartbeat rings out in the interior of his skull, the sound akin to that of waves beating against the side of a ship, only the noise is fainter than it should be because Loki's thoughts are already far away; he has been waiting for this moment for so long that when it comes there is no true sense of surprise, only inevitability.

"Then..." Loki trails off. "Then I'll need to prepare."

Thor blinks at him, disbelief flitting across his face before he makes an attempt to mask it and Loki can't pinpoint why he would be quite that surprised.

Oh.

He is Odin. Or rather, he is _supposed_ to be Odin and yet he has agreed to prepare based on nothing but Thor's promises about what mortals have witnessed.

If he keeps on making mistakes like this he'll eventually be discovered and then he'll have to sacrifice this position he's made for himself, the one that gives the most powerful role in the entirety of the Nine Realms, the one that best protects him and has allowed him to begin fortifying Asgard since he banished Odin to Midgard.

"Yes," Thor agrees but the word is spoken with caution. "We all will need to prepare. We'll need every last warrior we can get."

"The Dwarves of Nidavellir have already been crafting armour and weaponry in preparation for this war. We'll need to increase their production and ability to acquire and transport their materials even further.” Loki begins counting on his fingers. "We’ll have to summon forces from Alfheim and Vanaheim as well as Nidavellir."

"What about Midgard?"

Loki hesitates. "If your friends wish to die alongside gods then so be it."

There are storms in Thor's eyes before he bites down whatever retort he was going to make. "And the rest?"

"The rest of what?"

"The rest of the Nine Realms. There _are_ nine of them."

Loki does not appreciate the emphasis. "Tell me Thor: do you intend to raise the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim again? With their last surfacing only so recent, I would have thought you'd be avoiding those whose purpose it is to destroy us."

"I wasn't referring to the Dark Elves."

"Who then?" Loki almost laughs. "I sincerely hope you're not suggesting we ask the Fire Giants to fight on our behalf."

"No, not just on our behalf. On behalf of all the realms. And," Thor adds, "I wasn't only thinking of the Fire Giants. There are the Frost Giants too."

Thor says the words _Frost Giants_ without hesitating, without flinching, without it conjuring bile in his throat.

"The Frost Giants," Loki repeats, his tongue curling around the name. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time you visited Jotunheim?"

"Of course not. But I wouldn't be there to attack them this time, I–"

"And am I mistakenly under the impression I _didn't_ just specify that we should avoid those who would sabotage us?"

"We have a greater enemy now."

"I doubt they would see it that way. I thought I taught you not to be naive, Thor."

There is a flash of hurt before Thor composes himself. "Don't you remember how they were strong enough to make a stand against Asgard, once? They are capable fighters. We could use capable fighters."

"The Frost Giants would use any excuse to exact revenge upon us, they're a race of untrustworthy–"

" _Don't_ ," Thor interrupts and his voice echoes out against the silence of the throne room. "Not after–" Thor breaks off to take a breath. "Not after Loki." His mouth is tightly pressed together but his eyes never waver, never leaving Loki's. "You know what he did for us, Father. How much... How much he sacrificed. If Loki was capable of that as well as being a Frost Giant then there's no reason to assume other Jotuns can't be like him too." When he laughs the sound is wet. "Not _like_ him, of course. No one will ever be like him again. But for all Loki tried to bury his humanity, he never fully succeeded. The Frost Giants must have humanity too then, in order for something to be buried."

For a moment, Loki can do nothing but stare. Then he regains some of his composure. "Your brother would have eradicated the last of his humanity if given the choice. Using him as a testament to Jotun virtues only serves as an argument against them.”

"He was your _son_." Thor is shouting louder now, his chest swelling as he grows more passionate.

"Was he?" The question slips out without Loki's consent.

Thor shakes his head with disbelief. "You are just as blind as Loki was."

Loki can’t help but wonder where exactly Thor draws the line between speaking highly of him – only now that he’s supposed to be dead, of course – and making ill-informed remarks about his character defects.

“Blind, you call me,” Loki says. “We have been either at war or on the brink of war with Jotunheim for countless millennia. We can’t allow them the opportunity to seize more power. The Frost Giants cannot be trusted, you would have to be blind to think otherwise."

"They can be trusted if we have something they want."

Loki looks at him sharply. "Thor," he says slowly. "Tell me what you are planning."

"I haven't done anything," Thor says. "Not yet anyway." The admission is a sheepish one. "The Casket is in the vaults."

"Absolutely not," Loki says flatly.

"But–"

"The Frost Giants will _not_ get the Casket of Ancient Winters back. Do you want them to turn its powers on Asgard as soon as this is over? We'll already be weakened, it would be the opportune moment for them to strike."

"I thought you might say that."

Loki begins to rise from the throne. "What did you do?"

"Nothing yet." Thor hesitates. "I... I've learned a great deal from my brother. Not all tricks require magic and there are always loopholes when you search for them.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “So," Thor continues, "I'm informing you that there is a plot to steal the Casket from Asgard's vaults."

"That would be _treason_."

“Yes, it would be,” Thor says carefully. “But only on two conditions. One: if I know of the plot and do not tell you. And two: if I’m the one doing the thieving.”

Loki blinks. He has busied Volstagg by appointing him as a trainer for a number of Asgard’s forces. Busied Sif by sending her to Alfheim to speak with the Elves. Sent Hogun to Vanaheim and Fandral to Nidavellir to liaise with the most influential warriors of each respective realm.

"Then who?" Loki asks. “Who is stealing it?”

Thor’s smile reaches his eyes this time. "A teammate."

* * *

Loki veers around the corner.

"Father – please," Thor begs. He is barely keeping up as Loki makes his way to the vaults and it takes everything within Loki's power not to run because Odin does not run, Odin does not lose control.

"No," Loki answers. In Odin's voice it is an imperative command, a rejection with no room for misinterpretation.

"We need allies, Father. You're supposed to protect the Nine Realms and that includes _all_ of them."

Loki does not allow Thor to see that he has heard. "Guards!" Loki shouts as they reach the door. "Escort Thor back to his chambers and see that he does not break free of his confinement until I have returned."

The guards exchange a look but move to obey.

"But Father–"

Loki whirls around. "No, _Thor_." The sound of his name cracks like a whip and causes Thor to take a step back. "I already have enough of your damage to undo for one day."

* * *

Loki is able to travel faster now there are no witnesses and it takes little effort to make his steps fall silently.

Asgard’s vaults are a complex labyrinth of corridors and chambers, each vault with its own classification of items. The first Loki enters is the Vault of Enchanted Armours, then he passes through the leftmost door to navigate through the Vault of Cursed Relics, and from there he is able to reach the entrance that leads to the Vault of Ancient Artefacts.

Upon first glance, everything is in place. In the far corner the Tesseract emits a steady glow and towards the centre, the Eternal Flame casts its warm shadows that flicker upon the walls. Loki ventures further, past the shelves that are lined with an array of items; scrolls and compasses that do not point north, maps of places yet to be rediscovered and paintings that are older than life on some of the realms is, tomes in languages long forgotten and instruments whose uses have been lost to time.

The intruder is visible once Loki rounds the corner, though the intruder has yet to notice him.

It’s a familiar figure, a man inside a red and gold suit of armour. Not Asgardian armour – _Midgardian_.

_Stark_ , Loki has just about time to recall up until he's preoccupied by the sight of The Casket of Ancient Winters in his hands.

He has the Casket already.

Loki is rendered completely still, unable to do anything but watch as his fury and unbridled horror pulses through his veins.

Stark has no business on Asgard and if he is reckless enough to meddle with beings and worlds far greater than himself–

Of course he is.

Stark knows nothing of the histories of the wars between the Nine Realms, nothing of the Yggdrasil Tree and of the different races that extend from it. He doesn't have so much as a base understanding of the alliances that have formed between each of the races, something that even a _child_ would know.

No one forges alliances with monsters. The Frost Giants, of all races, are the least deserving of having a hand extended to.

Either Stark is willfully ignorant or he assumes he knows better.

It matters little. Either reason is unforgivable.

There will be a reckoning, Loki vows. For both Stark and Thor. For betraying Asgard by consorting with one of its enemies, for acting directly against the command of the Allfather, for their acts of lunacy risking them all.

Loki has crept closer now and he's cast an illusionary spell over himself that makes him harder to detect, one that causes eyes to slide right off him unless they already know where to look.

Stark's speaking, the words muffled behind his faceplate, only the words aren't directed at Loki. "Uh – yeah. Mission Impossible complete. Got the magic glowing cube thing." Stark tosses it with one hand and catches it with the other. "The magic blue cube that's not the Tesseract, that is. You guys have any other cubes lying around you wanna tell me about? Seriously, it's like Candy Crush in here."

There is no one else in the vault, not that Loki can see, so it must be through the technology embedded in the armour that Stark is communicating with someone and–

"Got it, Thor," Stark continues. "Operation avoid your dad." Flames emerge from Stark's boots that cause him to hover in the air. "On my way out."

Loki grins, though it more closely resembles a bearing of the teeth than a smile.

Then he leaps.

It's a tackle from one side, a blow that knocks them both to the floor. Loki is about to take advantage of the momentary shock Stark is in to seize the Casket, only his fingers hesitate just before they come into contact with it and it suddenly occurs to him that if he wants to claim it he’ll have to touch it.

The price is Stark firing a blast that impacts Loki's sternum and it’s directly in the place where the Kursed impaled him, the place that's still healing despite months having passed since the injury.

It causes Loki to keel over and he hisses, his hand clutching the place where it hit before he straightens himself.

“You got a workout routine or something?” Stark asks. “Because you’re in one hell of a good shape for an old man.”

"And you," Loki replies, "are in remarkably good spirits for someone caught committing treason by the Allfather himself."

Stark keeps the Casket clutched close. "Uh, yeah. About that. We need all the help we can get otherwise we're screwed. My advice? Get on board or get out of my way."

“Making an enemy of Asgard is far from a conducive strategy.”

“You think your people would follow you over Thor if they’re forced to choose?” Stark aims one of his hands, the threat clearly visible in the glowing light in the centre of the metal that covers his palm.

A threat. As if that will stop Loki. As if that could be _capable_ of stopping him.

“Yeah, no reply. Thought as much.” Stark makes a shooing gesture and Loki’s reply is to conjure his blades. "Oh, come on." Stark flicks his faceplate up. "Look. I'm a friend of Thor's. The whole shooting you thing probably wasn't a great first impression but hey, neither was you jumping up out of nowhere and tackling me so I guess we’re even. I don't know how much Thor's told you but we're kind of trying to save the world here – worlds, I mean – so how about this? A temporary truce."

A _truce_. After all this, Stark presumes to suggest a _truce_. As if he is in any position to negotiate. As if anything he has to say has any merit. As if Loki will wave away all his misgivings and all Stark’s wrongdoings and allow him to be on his merry way to deliver the very object that will inevitably be turned against Asgard.

Loki neglects to respond, cannot formulate a response, not while the source of all this is right in front of him.

Stark is not deterred and continues speaking. "Just so I can explain and head off without you getting all–"

"I know what you _think_ you're doing."

Stark shrugs. "Well, I tried." He eyes Loki's knives. "What you gonna do with those, anyway? Bringing knives to a gun – or, fine, a repulsor – fight is a bad call, anyone ever tell you that? Especially when the guy you're fighting is covered head to toe in metal. That’s me, by the way."

"The Casket," Loki demands.

"Hm." Stark looks to the Casket in his hand. "Nah." He starts speaking into his armour. "Uh, Thor? We've got a problem. Your daddy here's mightily... pissed."

Loki flings one of his daggers and Stark deflects it with a hand before the blade comes into contact with his face.

During the lowering of his visor, apparently Stark finds it too difficult to resist making a show of pulling an exasperated face. "Point taken."

There’s a roar and Stark takes off, twisting in mid-air. One of Loki's hands darts out to seize him by the calf and a blast hits his hand, another the crown of his head. The flames from Stark’s boots singe Loki’s hand as he maintains his hold.

They are at an impasse.

Loki is acting as an anchor, and Stark is straining above him to break his hold, to take off higher. Nothing changes, not at first, so Loki takes the initiative to alter his tactics before Stark does, allowing his grip with one hand to slip for a brief second. Not far enough to let Stark escape, but far enough to let him think he has, accelerating faster before Loki reclaims his grasp and uses the momentum Stark’s built to send him careering into a pillar.

By the time Loki reaches him at the bottom of the pillar, he's in the process of picking himself up, about to retrieve the Casket from where it lies on the floor. Loki won’t allow it, he can’t let him.

He seizes Stark’s wrists this time – if he pins them to the floor, Stark will no longer be able to fire the blasts from his hands and so long as he avoids the light in the middle of Stark's chest, he won't be shot with the stronger blast either. One hand for the wrists then, and the other to retrieve the Casket.

With his hand underneath the fabric of his cape, he won’t have to so much as touch it.

Residues of coldness seep through his cape as he grabs the Casket; not a clammy sort of cold but a deep searing one that penetrates through to his core.

Stark fires himself into him – or rather, his boots do, and while the collision does little more than jolt Loki, it's Stark's hand that shoots out to swipe the Casket and the way he takes off into the air with it which is more of a cause for concern.

Loki flings a knife. It incapacities one of Stark's boots and the sudden change in the thrust makes Stark veer off sharply to one side, knocking over the plinth that holds the Tesseract.

The Tesseract falls too far for Loki to reach to give him an advantage and Stark is hovering unbalanced in between them before he chooses to land.

Loki smiles then, a cold and joyless thing. "Don't think I will be merciful.”

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re old enough to get a state pension.”

Loki rushes forward – the Tesseract is right there, just behind Stark – only Stark begins firing a rapid series of shots, some of which Loki is able to dodge but the sheer quantity of them means that some hit their target, one impacting his shoulder, another his face, enough to sting but not enough to truly hinder him.

“Huh,” Stark says, eyes on Loki’s face as he draws closer. “Guess that explains a lot.”

For a moment Loki is caught in confusion.

Then it occurred to him: the blast hit his face.

His illusion must have fallen.

“Uh – Thor? Code Loki. We’ve got a Code Loki here.”

Whether or not Thor receives the message, Loki has no way of knowing, the only thing he knows is that he must move faster, act faster before his guise is revealed or Stark escapes.

And Stark still has his hands on the Casket.

“Let’s play,” Stark says.

Loki is within arms reach now – he could make a grab for the Casket if he was so inclined, but he doesn’t; instead he ducks and attacks Stark from behind, trying to wrench Stark's fingers from the Casket without touching it because there’d be nothing to separate himself from it, not when he’s had no time to prepare his cloak again.

There’s a struggle, one that involves lots of fumbling and both avoiding and not avoiding being hit by various shots and wishing he had his hands free to attempt to slip a blade in between the seams of Stark’s armour or at least do _something_.

Stark is the first to alter his tactics. Instead of trying to wrestle the Casket further away from him, he starts pushing it towards him and Loki flinches backwards before he can come into contact with it and–

Stark starts laughing as he breaks away. "What's the problem? You got allergies?"

He draws closer, using the Casket as some kind of deterrent because Loki has revealed too much and now he _knows_. He knows that Loki will do whatever he can to avoid the Casket and he's heading towards the exit – towards the _unguarded_ exit, Loki realises, because as far as the guards are concerned, they were sent by the Allfather to contain Thor.

Loki can't allow this strategy to work – he _won't_.

So he forces himself to stop falling backwards, forces himself to switch to attacking offensively rather than behaving defensively, brings out his daggers to aim strikes and cuts wherever out of reach of the Casket.

It's a familiar dance, made unfamiliar by the blunt object he keeps inadvertently dodging, the object that his instinct screams at him to avoid touching. He dodges this way and that, twists and spirals in ways that should disorientate Stark but don't, and all the while he keeps finding more and more of Stark's blasts hit their targets.

There is no obvious end to their routine and they seem to be at another impasse, too few of Loki's knives able to work their way through the seams of Stark's armour and Stark's blasts too weak to do any lingering damage and Loki can't touch Stark without him shoving the Casket at him and–

A falter.

Loki isn't sure who's at fault for it, only now they're out of synchrony and the rhythm has suddenly changed and something _cold_ is forcefully pressed into the side of his face.

“Personally,” Stark says, ”I hope you get hives.”

Loki jerks backwards but it’s too late.

The change begins and he can feel it, the poison that spreads over his face, an infection that causes his skin to harden and tighten and then it keeps spreading and spreading, across not just his face but down his neck, past his spine, and now it’s turning his hands blue, contaminating them with that Jotun-blue and there’s something else growing, two sections of bone starting to protrude upwards from the top of his head and there's nothing he can do to stop the change, nothing he can do to prevent it because he's frozen in place and unable to anything but stare at the colour of his hands.

"Huh," Stark remarks. "Some allergy." He nods at Loki’s head. “Comes with horns and all.”

The sound of Stark's voice is an unpleasant jolt, one that jerks Loki back into reality and he rips the Casket from Stark's hands, delivering a kick to his abdomen for good measure.

The metal crumples but Stark remains upright and he shoots something out of his wrist that stings when it hits Loki's cheek and it's wet and warm and then Loki is bleeding.

His blood, Loki realises abstractly as a drop falls to the floor, is still red.

Stark aims another blast, this time at his hands, but Loki can't lose the Casket, can't allow Stark to deliver it to the Jotun beasts.

For two people to have witnessed him in this form is two too many, but for there to be another and for it to be _Stark_ of all people...

Loki stalks forward. There is a knife in his free hand and an oh so convenient metal seam at the side of Stark’s throat and if he gets rid of this creature, not merely a pest but a plague on the Nine Realms, then he will no longer have to hold the Casket to prevent him from taking it and there will be no one else to witness him looking like this.

Stark neither runs nor stands his ground – he charges at him. The light in his chest glows and then the beam once again erupts from it and Loki finds himself flung backwards and all of a sudden it is very warm, then very hot, then blisteringly hot.

Loki's vision is filled with orange fire.

The Eternal Flame.

His hands have caught the metal rim of its base.

The pain makes Loki's breath catch in his throat and he lurches backwards, only in doing so he finds himself unable to do much more than stagger.

This isn’t right, he’s never been affected like this by it before, this shouldn’t be happening, this… This is what being Jotun has reduced him to.

Something is touching his arms, grabbing his wrists and refusing to let go. It's Stark, Loki realises, though his vision is filled with blurs and the heat is making him unable to think clearly, unable to put up enough resistance.

"Hand it over," Stark demands.

Loki does not.

He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to shake himself free of Stark's grip but the heat is making him so so weak, like a child bedridden with a fever.

Loki has to move. He can’t remain here, not while he has to fight harder and harder for each breath, not while his strength is leaking out of him in sweats.

Stark is about to take the Casket. Loki does not have the capacity to fight, not when he's so close to the flame and unable to escape.

So Loki creates a distraction; he uses what little strength he has left to conjure one of his illusions.

It's an illusion of Thor, complete with his thundering footsteps as he runs into the vault.

Stark turns towards the sound.

“The guards!” Loki makes Thor say. “They gave me some trouble.”

Stark shrugs. “You got here just as the fun was over.”

The illusion of Thor moves closer towards the flames. “I’ll take care of my brother.”

And... _there_. That's what Loki's waiting for: the moment when Stark releases him and watches the illusion of Thor grabbing his wrists, the moment when Loki can conceal himself from sight and leave a duplicate in the position he's just left.

The magic is a task Loki manages; the movement is one he manages with less competence.

Upon his first step, darkness surrounds the edges of his vision. Upon his second he isn’t certain whether or not his foot actually makes contact with the floor, and upon the third he finds himself on the floor. The Casket has fallen out of his hands but finally, _finally_ , he has escaped the heat of the flames.

“Nice job, Thor,” Stark says. He claps a hand against Thor’s shoulder, only to find it falls through it and the illusion dissipates.

Stark whirls around. “Shit.”

This time, Loki is ready. The Jotunness has bled from him and he appears as himself, crouching on one knee on the floor.

Loki grins, though his breath is still laboured. “Indeed.”

There is a pulse of static accompanying each blade that appears as Loki arcs his arm. For the briefest of moments, the daggers remain in place where he has left them, hovering in mid-air, poised in position, ready to be released.

Stark pauses, his faceplate turned towards the blades.

Loki takes a breath. Then he unleashes the daggers and they fly with such force that they blur as they fly through the air. One misses, one is dodged, followed by another that causes barely more than a scrape, then the last hits its target, striking between the plating in his knee.

“Ow. Uh… JARVIS? A little help here.”

Loki does not wait to discover what that entails. He rushes forward, grabbing the Casket from the floor as he does so, his only objective reaching the Tesseract and vanishing before Thor, the real Thor, can make his appearance.

“Shit,” Stark curses again, right before he throws himself into Loki’s path and points towards his chest. “I’ve got another shot right here – yeah, that’s right the ones that _hurt_ – and unless you stop–“

Loki does not stop.

Stark readies his weapon, Loki can see it in the way the light in his chest starts glowing brighter and brighter, but he has a weapon of his own that Stark has not anticipated: the Casket.

He grips both handles tightly, clenches his hands and feels the coldness spreading, only this item it’s not from the Casket to himself, it’s from himself to the Casket.

The pressure is unleashed.

The pressure is unleashed but there’s also a bright flash of light behind it that comes from Stark, one that’s accompanied by a distinct smashing sound, like the shattering of glass, only louder, much louder than it has any right to be, and just as Loki has time to register that the Casket is no longer in his hands there is a shockwave that explodes outwards and hits with enough force to send him flying backwards through the air and it’s cold, so so cold and–

* * *

Loki wakes to a world of blue and white ice.


End file.
